Wake of War
by JeanHermioneSnape
Summary: 'Wake of War' is a story about a Slytherin Hermione Granger falling in love with her Potions Professor, while dodging the bad blokes and gals, some revenge plans and an evil mastermind, which will remain nameless for a while - let me know if you figure it out, just beware it isn't the obvious name. Enjoy your reading of 'Wake of War!
1. An Unfinished Letter

1. An Unfinished Letter

**_The war is over. The boy who lived, lived through another killing curse to finally defeat Lord Voldemort and save all our arses (Wizards and Muggles alike) once and for all (until next madman comes along looking to be God among Muggles and Wizards)._**

**_It's quiet now - well, as quiet as four months after that dreadful end of an era of fear could get - no more Death Eaters around (they're either in Azkaban or had fleed), no more Muggle-borns and Muggles being hunted down and killed, no more terror. The Wizarding and Muggle Worlds are starting anew (Merlin knows, what that shite even means - I got it from a speech the Minister gave a while back here at Hogwarts). You might have noticed something different too: better weather, less crimes, less everything actually. It was in the Muggle Prime Minister gave a speech on the end of recession or something a couple of days ago - I read it in the Daily Prophet - that was all this 'starting anew' shite._**

**_Impressive, eh? Not so much on this end… Here's there now 'anew' - not yet anyhow. There's tears, sweat and lots of magic to build it back to how it was. Even that fucking statue… you know the one - wizards are best, the rest is scum… well, they'll be keeping it. Some stupid thing about 'being a symbol of what never should have happened'. Bullocks! I think's gonna be a symbol of what did happen and could happen again. _**

**_But how am I to judge, right, just a Muggle-born witch, barely started into adulthood? It's not like I've been fighting this war for the second I stepped foot in Hogwarts, plus last few months, right there in the first line. _**

**_We have a new Minister for Magic, by the way, Kingsley Shacklebolt - I think I told you about him once, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Great guy they say - Potter and Weasley can't stop praising him - but I doubt it somehow. He doesn't seem great, just… I don't know: ordinary?_**

**_Anyhow… it is the dawn of a new age, the age of light and all that shite… I don't know where I got that from but… _**

**_…_**

**_You're not going to read this, are you? Of course you're not, because I'll never finish it…_**

Hermione draw her wand, thought 'Incendio' and before she even finished the thought the parchment full of her thoughts was turning to ashes on top of the table. It was the sixth one to have the same fate in less than an hour.

_Stupid letter_, she thought sneering at the slowly fading flames as if it were to blame for her mess. Well, of course she was in a mess, and of course it was totally her fault, but she wouldn't really be a Slytherin if she'd just take it, now would she? No, she had to find a way around it, a way to get rid of the mess, cover her arse and make it look like somebody else was to blame. She had to be cunning and selfish and… well, her.

But who can you really blame when you erase your parents' memories and send them on the other side of the globe?

Voldemort?

It could work… for a while… before the whole 'Did Voldemort put the wand in your hand?' or 'Did Voldemort made you?' nonsense would come up and then she would be back to square one: angry obliviated parents and her, not really knowing how to get out of it.

So, how else was there? Dumbledore? Potter? Minister fucking Scrimgeour?

It wouldn't work. They would see right through her and be even angrier because of the lying and everything. But, honestly, what did they expect from a Slytherin? Oh, yeah, nothing because no matter how much she wished they could understand all about Slytherin and the Wizarding World - they simply couldn't.

Even back in her first year of knowing she was a witch, when she first wrote to them, that first night in the castle, most of the parchment drenched in burning hot tears, that she had been sorted into Slytherin of all places, they had sent her a green and silver Muggle book bag and a letter that contained no more and no less than fifty six 'congratulations' - she counted them all and cried once more for each and every one of them.

How could they understand? They were normal… not like her, the abnormal Muggle and then the abnormal witch.

And then, later on when her house mates' teasing got too bad, with all the calling of names and hexing in the corridors or common room, she wrote to them again, telling them all that was happening, begging them to take her home, but they didn't. They simply wrote back that teasing was normal, that they (her house mates) just needed time to see what a good girl she was.

She had stopped writing the truth after that and started making up friends and stories and adventures, some invented, some that have belonged to others, telling them all about Harry Potter, the Great Albus Dumbledore and all sorts of other wizards and witches that roamed the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at one time or another. They were happy with it and because of it, she was happy too, in a way. They still didn't understand, but at least they could all pretend that they did. It was fine like that.

That was the moment when she became a true Slytherin. She hadn't been one up to that moment - though the Sorting Hat thought her Slytherin enough to place her, the Muggle-born daughter of dentists, in Salazar's House - but in that moment, that precise moment when she received their reply to her first lie filled letter and read their pride and happiness for their daughter, the witch, she had become one - a Slytherin true and true. Oh, she didn't suddenly belong in Slytherin House, even now, she still doesn't - not always, anyhow - but back then, that frightened twelve year old Hermione Grange had embraced Slytherin and even though Slytherin never truly embraced her and she was fine with it.

The years started coming and going, the same cycle every year: nine months of school, where she was the abnormality of the lot - the only Muggle-born Slytherin Hogwarts had ever seen, the know-it-all bookworm, the bossy student with the highest grades. Then there were the summers, when she was the abnormal daughter - the one that had to lie to friends and family just to go through the day, the one that fought with every ounce of her strength to keep her magic from imploding or exploding whenever things got too hard, the one how was still teased and called all sort of names. The only difference was that the Muggle world never hexed her - no, all of her physical scars came from the Wizarding world. - but they did damage as well - physiological damage.

And all because she didn't fit at all, in any place: not when nine months of twelve she was the Muggle-born pretending to belong to Pure-bloods that hated her and all like her and not in the three months out of twelve when she was the witch pretending to be Muggle.

And so the years passed. Sometimes too fast and other times not fast enough, but they always passed, one after another, after another, after another… until… one year, one day Voldemort came back and with him all her barely there peace disappeared.

The war took longer than she'd expected it to take. She had imagined weeks or maybe months before Voldemort would be caught, but it was longer… so much, much longer. It took years, actually. Years of living in fear for her life, years of praying to see another sunrise, years of going to bed not truly knowing if she would wake up again next morning, but by then she was Slytherin enough that she did..

Year after year she got up, went to classes, spent time in the library, did Merlin only knew how many independent studies and projects - the professors where actually running away every time they saw her walking towards them, all except one, but she simply didn't have anything else to do with no other social life than avoiding the other Slytherins - got the highest marks Hogwarts had seen in years and late at night, when she was sure her house mates were asleep she would finally let herself drift to sleep with her eyes closed and her consciousness in full alert, waking up at the slightest noise.

And then - on that night that for her changed everything - the one man, the one person in the whole Wizarding World whom she trusted above anyone else, killed Dumbledore. It wasn't like she cared much for the old buffoon of a Headmaster, but he did stand as symbol for all that was right and good and decent, and all that was opposing Voldemort. And Professor Snape, her Head of House, the man she would have trusted with her life, had been the one to kill him. A Death Eater… He'd been a Death Eater…

That was when her life started falling to pieces.

She had gone home the day after Dumbledore's funeral and told her parents for the first time in years, the truth. It had been strange looking at their faces as truth after truth registered in their eyes as lies, sorrow and fear. And still, after hearing it all, after listening to stories of Death Eaters and attacks and deaths, of their own life being at stake, they still understood little of it. They, nevertheless, begged: for her to never leave their sight again, to abandon school and the Wizarding World all together, to stop being a witch and just be normal once again.

She would do none of those things of course and after what seemed to be the longest week of her entire life, a week of sulking all day long and planning through the night, she fled. But not before doing the deed as she had planned it all week long. She'd cast a Memory Modifying Charm on her parents, an Obliteration Charm on all their belongings - making it as if she'd never existed - and send them packed and ready, with new identities and all, on the other side of the world, all the way to Australia.

And then she fled...

She had been on the run for about a week when in the Forest of Dean - a place she'd gone when missing her parents seemed to overwhelm her - she'd come across lamely erected wards and a tent just behind them. There, in the middle of nowhere, when she was most afraid and the loneliest she'd ever been, she had run into the Boy who lived and his faithful sidekick.

They fought for minutes - it was only natural for Slytherins and Gryffindors to fight - before Potter suggested that she stay with them and so she stayed. It had been fun… Yes, she could admit that now, here in the privacy of her own mind, she could admit she had some fun, some laughs and much too many brink of death experiences, but she had fun. She loved riling the poor sods over and over, until one of them broke and then doing the not so Slytherin gesture of apologising only to start it over a few days - sometimes just hours - later.

Of the two, Weasley, the sidekick, was the easiest to rile, especially after she discovered that the poor imbecile had a thing for her. She liked him too, in a 'just like I would like a pet' kind of way - okay maybe a bit more, giving she slept with him and not only once, but it was nothing… nothing that could or would last anyhow. He was just fun to rile, to snog and… okay she had to admit it - more than just fun to shag. What more could a girl want? Well, girls usually wanted a hell of a lot more - flowers and candy and late night dates on the Astronomy Tower. Not her though. She only wanted the present and their present, as it was there in that tent, had nothing to do with flowers or candy and everything to do with running all around the country looking for pieces of the evilest of souls.

And then there was Potter.

The boy that even now, after more than half a year living in a tent together and fighting side by side in the Final Battle, still remained a complete mystery to her. He is just too Gryffindor - much too… Gryffindor. Sacrificing his life left and right, blaming even the rain wetting the hem of their robes on himself, rushing to danger without a second to weigh the possible outcome, acting before thinking and thinking when it was much to late - the screwiest of them all up in Gryffindor tower, in her opinion, but the nitwit did had the best of hearts and all that he did, he did because of that huge organ. Well, in the end the muttonhead did it… killed Voldemort, saved the world and all because of that big heart of his.

Hermione sometimes wondered if that would have been her - without the fucking prophecy and Voldemort of course, but close to how he was - if the Sorting Hat would have listened seven years ago to her silent pleading of "Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!".

It hadn't obviously, but she could dream, right? She could and did, and often too.

She'd dream of an world where Hermione Jean Granger got sorted into Gryffindor, where she was best friend to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, where all the adventures of those two had been hers as well, where she had always been happy, where someday Ronald Weasley would be good enough for her and she would good enough for him and where one day, one very far away day, Rose and Hugo wouldn't be just the name she used to give her dolls when she was little, but the names of her little girl and boy.

She did dream, but it was only that: only a dream…

Could she put that in her letter? _Dear mum and dad, let me tell you about my dream…_

"I don't think so," she murmured and with a silent "Accio!" a fresh roll of parchment zoomed into her outstretched hand. Dipping her quill she thought for a moment before starting writing the blasted letter that tormented her once again.

**_Mum and dad, _**

**_I've missed you. I really did, still do - terrible so - but it was the only way I knew how to keep you alive. I was a target… maybe the main target, lower on that maniac's hit list, than only Harry Potter. I was the Muggle-born that shouldn't have been placed in a house that took pride in blood purity, the Slytherin that should never have been and you ... you are my parents._**

**_They would have come for you faster than you could've said 'Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans' and I had no way of protecting you. Even if I've had stayed, they would've still come. I couldn't have protected you, not by simply being the witch of the family. I am good at duelling, really good, but not 'taking on a gang of Death Eaters' good._**

**_I did the only thing I knew. I'm a Slytherin, remember. I protected what I need to have protected by taking the easiest - not it wasn't easy… it was fucking hard giving you up, making you believe I never existed - but it was the only solution I could think of._**

**_I should have come with you - now that I had time to think about it - I know I should have come. It would have been easier, better, safer… I can't really tell you why I didn't. Maybe because of some almost extinct Gryffindor gene - Professor Snape would hex me for even thinking I have Gryffindor genes - but I have, don't I, and it's stupid and as a consequence I do stupid things; like staying with Potter and Weasley for half a year or throwing myself into a war or … there were a hell of a lot of stupid things during this last year. Thrust me when I say - you don't need to know it all, maybe not even half, or a quarter or… Hell, I'll tell you only what you do need to know, for now at least._**

**_I've missed you… (I said it before but it's true)_**

**_I need you to… to not stop loving me… to not stop trusting me…_**

Hermione crumbled the piece of parchment before tuning her wand on it and burning yet another one to ashes.

_I'm a fucking Slytherin, not a half-bred of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!_

She was pathetically sentimental sometimes, idiotically loyal to a handful of people and the brain of the school: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw - so why the fuck was she in Slytherin?

_Oh, yeah, because I'm a nasty piece of shite in my best days_, Hermione thought as she watched the parchment burn out and the flames dying out, _I only look out for myself, I'm good at hiding what I feel, what I want, what I need, I'm cunning and proud - I'm a fucking contradiction or the most balanced person on Earth - either way I don't fit_.

She dragged her feet onto the sofa and laid her chin on her knees. She was watching the fire, the one in the grate this time, burning a rainbow of colours: red and green mainly, some blue here and there, some yellow also… Even the fire was house colour coded, she noticed and the smallest of smiles crept to her lips, and it was just as fucked up as she was, so maybe there was hope for her yet…

"Not likely!" she puffed.

"Talking to yourself often, Granger?"


	2. Unwanted Desires

2. Unwanted Desires

"Talking to yourself, Granger?"

Hermione snapped her head towards the voice, to discover Draco Malfoy, the only other Slytherin seventh year returnee, standing on top of the bedrooms' stairs, wearing nothing but a barely-covering-anything pair of Slytherin green boxers. He looked… good, extremely good - mouth-watering good if she was perfectly honest with herself and she was, most of the time. And then there were those boxers.

_Damn,_ cursed Hermione, trying and failing to stare at anything but his groin. Those fucking boxers that left absolutely nothing - but the exact colour, of his not really flaccid and not yet too hard erection - to the imagination were actually making her drool and she hadn't done that in - ever. _I don't drool!_

Yet, despite the drooling and the vivid daydream already going through her sick mind - the kind where he was pounding her through the sofa - he was still him. Still Draco Fucking Malfoy and no matter how fuckable she found him - and at least half the female students at Hogwarts, maybe even some male students and some of the faculty - he was also the guy she detested the most - second maybe only to Voldemort himself. And how could she not hate him - though 'hate' was definitely a much too strong of a word, especially when taking into account those fucking boxers and the fact that he did changed sides in the war - when he had been the one to first call her a Mudblood, the one to first drive her away from everybody and later the first one she took revenge on - Malfoy the bouncing ferret was even funnier the second time around, especially since she'd been the one to turn him this time - it had even worth the one hundred and fifty points Slytherin lost because of her and the detention with she got with Filch.

"Not good, Granger" Malfoy went on with a smirk that said all too clear that he knew, condoned and loved every minute that her eyes stayed glued to his crotch as if a Permanent Sticking Charm had been cast on them, "people will start to think you're nuts or something, especially since you seem determined to spend every night sleeping in the common room. The war's over Granger!"

"Planning on asking me to spend my nights somewhere else," she teased ignoring the last part of his comment and stretching her aching limbs, more than likely giving Malfoy a pretty good view of her cleavage in the process - who ever said that robes couldn't be sexy didn't know Madam Porskoff and her dangerously low cut necklines.

"Humph," sniffed Malfoy, starting to make his way towards the couch - and her. "Been dreaming about me much?"

"Not really! Haven't any nightmares recently." Hermione said starching again, this time the other way and not at all of Malfoy's benefit. She really was stiff.

_Who wouldn't_ be, she mussed as a popping sound and a flash of pain from somewhere around her left hip made her squeak. _Been at it for what, three - four hours? No wonder!_

"Is that so?" said Malfoy taking the seat next to her on the two seats sofa, the grin obvious in his tone.

Hermione tried to ignore him, but probably because of the late hour - she was fairly tired - or maybe because of a sudden unset of dementia her mind kept going back to those boxers and soon enough the eyes followed. He was stretching his legs - his perfectly toned marble like legs - and crossing his ankles making the bulge hidden behind those boxers stick out even more. Or was it not an illusion at all but his actual reaction to being this close to her, or her obvious interest in that part of his anatomy? She didn't know, but, _damn_, he was hot.

"Then tell me Granger, is Weasley the one you dream of or maybe Potter?"

"Oh sweet Merlin, you caught me!" She mockingly gasped, dragging her eyes for his groin to his face and grabbing her chest right over her heart. "And how's Pansy these days by the way?"

And there was the other reason why Malfoy's boxers and anything they his was a no go, no matter how much she looked and drooled and thought about what stood behind Malfoy's Slytherin green, there was always Pansy Parkinson. The girl was a definite slag - their fifth year she had screwed through fifth and sixth years Slytherins before Christmas, after losing her virginity at Halloween; and to Malfoy no less - and Hermione could have sworn, back in her fifth year, after a nasty row with the girl, that she had some hag blood also, but that really wasn't the point. The cross of the matter was that Parkinson was his fiancé - slag, hag and all, she was still his and he was hers - and that made took him off her 'to shag' list on principle alone.

"Not lonely," smirked Draco stretching his arms high above his head and then slowly lowering his left one over Hermione's shoulders, "she has needs and with me cooked up in this place, she finds others to satisfy them. Just like I do…" He purred. His hand, the one draped over her shoulders, started caressing the spot where neck meet shoulder and though she liked it terrible - a little too much actually; she had no idea that spot could spark that much heat from an almost innocent touch - she slapped it off. "Argh! Watch the nails, witch!" Or maybe she scratched it off - she never could tell now a days with nails a little bit longer that she was used to wearing them; though it seemed to make a wicked weapon when dealing with touching creeps.

"Watch the hands, jerk!"

Hermione made to stand, got barely half way to being even slightly erect - she was still crouched in an awkward position - when Malfoy's hand shot out of nowhere and roughly grabbed her around the waist dragging her down. Her body hit something hard instead of the softness of the sofa covering she was expecting and it took her mind almost a minute before realising the she was now on his lap, his barely-covered lap, his boxers covered lap.

_Merlin help me, I need a shag_, she thought as her back came crushing down to his chest - _his naked chest _-and she felt the long, hot hardness under her arse. Apparently Malfoy was now completely hard.

_I really, really need a fuck!_

She closed her eyes, wishing against her better judgement that barely there piece of cloth he was wearing simply vanished, along with her own clothes if possible and at the same time wanting desperately to be anywhere but in Draco Malfoy's lap.

_Get off, you idiot, get off! NOW,_ Hermione kept yelling to herself even as she felt Malfoy shifting her a little onto his lap, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist and pushing his groin up into her completely covered arse. At that moment, the only thing that she seemed capable of doing was grinding right back into him.

_Get off!_

She wanted to obey - she wanted it so much she could almost feel her mind breaking as the two forces, the one that wanted to obey and the one that wanted to let this, whatever this was, happen, fought for dominance - but she didn't. She just kept on grinding onto the piece of silk covering his burning shaft, growing more and aroused with every second that passed.

His hands tightened on her tights as he pressed her even harder onto his lap, making her legs slide down on either side of him. He fumbled for a second with the folds of her robe, before she felt cool air hitting her already damp knickers and his slightly calloused fingers stroking the inside of her naked tights, making their way to where she wanted them most. She was in heaven when first one, then a second finger reached the side of her knickers, alternating caressing the skin where crotch meet leg with or brushing his knuckles to the fabric. With every stroke he was advancing closer to the damp spot that she silently willed him to touch, though she knew - barely but still - that it was the worst desire she could have had.

_Please, of fuck… please… a little, just a… FUCK!_

And then he was there, both fingers stroking the not so small wet-patch, pressing ever so harder, touching her just as she wanted – no, needed – him to touch her, making her moan loud and clear. Her head dropped back on his shoulder and suddenly there were lips there, brushing and kissing as those two magical fingers stroked her still covered folds or rubbing or pinched through the thin material her painfully erect clit.

_Merlin… FUCK!_

"F…uck!" she gasped as a burst of fiery electricity exploded in the middle of her core, soaking her already wet knickers.

She was on fire.

She was dying.

She was alive.

She was loving it and hating it at the same time, though somehow she couldn't for the life of her remember why was she supposed to hate it.

She was in heaven.

"Like that, do you?" he panted as his lips trailed from ear to shoulder and back again, sucking and licking and kissing every millimetre of skin he could reach.

She would have answered, but as she opened her mouth to speak, those fingers of his, slipped by the side of her knickers, reaching the soft, wet folds. He didn't linger, not even a second, before sliding down her slit and going strait for the prize.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…_

"Fuck… oh FUCK!"

"That's it Granger… let me… show me," he choked on his words and pressed his fucking amazing fingers to her exploding clit even harder, making her moan so loud she was sure the whole castle had heard her, never mind the entire Slytherin House.

He pushed, rubbed, circled and pushed so more as wave after wave of pleasure crossed through her body, her inner walls fluttering like mad with the delicious feeling of letting it all go and then, just as she thought he'd given her all that he could, his other hand slithered its way past her waist, to her crouch and past her knickers and without even a second hesitation he plunged two fingers into her tight, dripping opening.

There was a moment of complete silence - or maybe for that particular moment she simply blacked out or something, not that she cared anymore - when everything stopped: time, space, even the orgasm she was already well into and then just like switching an on and off button back to on, everything came crushing down making her scream as if her life depending on having that scream heard all the way to the continent.

* * *

It was a while yet, before her body relaxed enough - her legs were still shaking and her arms felt like jelly - to slump onto the body behind her. She was barely aware of who the body, the laboured breathing in her ear and the hands still caressing her over sensitised clit belonged to and she like it like that. This way she could simply pretend that he was just another faceless stranger, the kind you meet in a pub, have a couple of drinks with, get pissed and fuck the living daylights out of, never to see him again. But reality was a bitch and as relaxation settled down, doing away with the fog that surrounded her mind, Hermione finally realized what she just did and who exactly she was actually thinking of doing - or at least repay the favour too - and as if a spell had been lifted the rational side of her mind went into gear.

"Let me go!" she spit out and before she could ever register the gesture Hermione was out of his lap and a few feet away from him in a blink of an eye - robes settling down around her, covering all proof of what had just transpired. She turned towards him with a rage full expression and a ready to hex wand in her hand, a hex already playing itself in her mind, "If you ever, and I mean EVER, do that again, I'll Diffindo your dangles off faster than you can cry for mummy! You get that, Ferret?"

"Oh, come off of you high horse. You liked it."

"Of course I liked it, you moron. I haven't been laid in longer than I care to remember and you have all the right parts and…"

"Why, Granger, how nice of you to notice and give a bloke a compliment!"

"Yes, well too bad it wasn't," she sneered. "That was me preparing to verbally eviscerate those right parts of yours."

"Tease!"

She was inches from his face in a blink of an eye - never had she moved this quickly, but apparently rage and mortification had their perks - her wand digging into the flesh of his neck. She was fuming.

"You fucking son of a bitch, try that again - scratch that - try to come within ten feet of me again and I swear, Malfoy, the only thing they're be sending back to Malfoy Manor will be your pathetic prick and a hand full of blonde locks for identification." He seemed to have a hard time swallowing - be it because of her words or the wand crushing his windpipe she had no idea and couldn't care less. "Get that?"

She would have said more, but before she had the chance to, he was on his feet, pushing her wand hand away and storming off the stairs, cursing under his breath about 'Fucking bitches' and 'cock teases'.

_Idiot… you fucking, moronic idiot._


	3. A Gryffindor Nuisnace

3. A Gryffindor Nuisance

As she went down to breakfast the day after, Hermione once again let her mind wander to her parents and the blasted letter she had no idea how to formulate - well, she did it mostly so she would not go looking for Malfoy and doing away with his bollocks just for the fun of it, especially after the night's performance.

Oh, she was mad at him, madder than she'd ever been in her life - mad enough to increase the number of ghosts at Hogwarts with a little, white ghostly ferret - and in all honestly she had every right to be, yet the urge to kill Malfoy was absolutely nothing compared to what she was feeling towards herself. She'd been a fool - acting like a naive Hufflepuff virgin dressed in Slytherin robes - and all because her body decided to overpower her mind.

_When did I become so weak_, Hermione wondered as images of the night before tormented her, _or better yet, this hormone-driven teenager that gives in to anyone for a hand down her knickers?_ She didn't have answers - what she did have was a letter needing a finish.

She'd started another one since the one she didn't even wanted to remember as it brought back memories she wasn't willing to dwell on anymore, early this morning actually, after Crookshanks thought it was a good idea to wake her up at five when she'd only managed to fall asleep a couple of hours before. It had come as no surprise as this one ended in flames and ash just like the rest of them had. She was slowly but surely running out of parchment to incinerate. They all seemed like the one to send for a few lines, sometimes a few paragraphs, before she wrote something completely imbecilic and she would start all over again.

And it wasn't only the letter, but going to Australia, tracking them down and actually restoring their memories - how could she do all that? How could she ever bring them back when she wasn't even sure there was anything to bring back? Maybe she'd done it wrong, maybe she'd done it too wright, maybe she'd done it wright and something somehow still went terribly wrong, maybe… But there were too many 'maybe's and she wasn't going to deal with 'maybe's and 'what if's right now.

Would they even understand what she'll someday finally explain in that letter? Did she? Sometimes she thought she did, others… Other times she wasn't so sure. Everything was just so different - she was different…

Would they still recognise the girl they had begged and threatened to leave the Wizarding World and stay home in the young woman that she was now? She sure as hell didn't! She didn't even see that girl in the mirror anymore. She, the Hermione of then, was gone, but then again that's what war does, isn't it? That's what you get when you have children fighting a war too big for adults never mind for them. Not one of those who fought was the same. Potter wasn't the same, his girlfriend, his best mate, Loony and all others, that had been there wand in hand and hexes flying left and right, weren't the same - hell, even Malfoy was different now and that was saying something.

She cringed as the bastard's face swam before her eyes - yeah, he was different but if he ever tried a repeat performance of the night before, he sure as hell wasn't out of the threat of death just yet.

"Oi, Hermione!"

Hermione turned, a sneer on her face - nobody, except for her parents, ever called her Hermione before - when she saw Ronald Weasley striding through the morning crowd of students towards her. Many were staring at him just like a couple of weeks ago had been staring at her -they were apparently the Wizarding World's Saviours, though she had no idea why she got that title when all that she'd did was save her own arse, but she wasn't exactly complaining about it. It had its perks.

"Ron," she greeted with a small smile - not small enough to be missed by Weasley and still almost invisible to the others. They were kind of friendly now - well, he was kind of friendly towards her; she on the other hand was her usual keeping everyone at bay self. It must have been the months spent in much too close proximity with each other in a stinking tent, the fighting back to back while facing Death Eaters way older and more experienced than them and Lord Voldemort himself or maybe all the shagging they did, Merlin only knew and truth be told she wasn't really that interested in how and why it happened. She wasn't even that interested in the fact that it happened; she barely tolerated the weasel when sex or duels weren't involved. "What are you doing here?"

She honestly hadn't expected to see either him or Potter before the end of the year and maybe even then, as they had took the first door out of school and had gone for the Minister's honorific NEWTs - given without actually taking the NEWTs - as soon as they were offered. Many had taken that road, which was why there were only a handful of seventh year returnees: her and Malfoy, a couple of Hufflepuffs, almost all the Ravenclaws and no Gryffindor what so ever.

_Ever the lazy sods! Brave my arse!_

"Visiting Ginny," Weasley smiled that large, all teeth smile of his - the one that would have made her parents proud, had he been one of their patients. _And there it is, _the pang, the awful pang of loneliness and despair she always got when she thought of her parents former life. She managed to ignore it as Weasley went on, "and Luna and y…" he paused, swallowed loudly, and tried again, "y…you. You know… the old gang."

"Oh, I know," Hermione smirked, seeing Malfoy walking into the Great Hall, his eyes falling right onto Weasley and her. He didn't seem to like what he was seeing and for a small, infinitesimal second she basked in the murderous look he was sending Weasley. But it only lasted a heartbeat until a nagging little voice that always sounded like Professor Snape's reminded her that Malfoy was a piece of scam and just like that she turned, completely tuning off anything to do with the Malfoy heir and concentrated on Weasley, "but, you do know, I've never been part of the 'ol' gang', right?"

"You could be," he smiled again giving her the sweetest look she'd ever seen - she thought she might be sick. "They all like you…"

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "Look Weasley - you're fun and everything, so is Scarhead, who by the looks of Gryffindor table is off somewhere doing your sister," she almost laughed at the sick look the boy shoot the Gryffindor table, where sure enough there was no sign of Ginevra Weasley or Boy-Wonder. "but we're not BFFs," she went on, ignoring Weasley's reaction and Malfoy's approaching - okay so she couldn't tune him off completely, but it was nothing really, just your standard Slytherin defence mechanism. "We're school mates," she went on as she tried even harder to ignore the blonde figure and his rage filled eyes, "and at one point we worked together for a while - mutual need and all that shite - and then we went back to being not at distant as before, but not exactly -" She paused, willing herself not to spit the word as she so much wanted to, but it was no use. "- friends -" She said the word as if it was personally offending.

The Gryffindor cringed and took a step back as if afraid either she or the word would physically harm him and Hermione had to scold her features fast enough to hide her own cringe. She was too good at this - too good at driving them all as far away as it was physically possible.

"I thought you'll say something like that," whispered Weasley dejectedly, turning once more towards the Gryffindor table, though Hermione suspected that this time it wasn't so he could search for his baby sister. He did had a ... well something for her and she was being a bitch.

"Good!" she offered with a nod as a different kind of pang from the one she felt earlier started bothering her. She was truly sorry for the boy; not that Weasley was that much younger than she was - well, actually he was about two years younger from all her time-travelling third, fourth and fifth year - but she usually saw him as a boy, a scared little boy trying to play the part of a man he hadn't yet become.

"So, how's school?" Weasley asked - way too obvious in changing the subject - his eyes darting at the High Table. He seemed to scan it for a second before settling his gaze on the yet empty chair of the Potions Master, Severus Snape.

_Fuck, Weasley_, she thought with a sigh, _if that's the Aurors idea of stealth we're doomed_.

"Come on," she said taking his arm and directing him towards the Slytherin table, "let's sit and I'll tell you all about it."

"What," Weasley cried, jerking his arm a bit, but not enough to get out of her grip, "…there?"

"Yes, well it doesn't bite, you know?"

"Let's go to Gryffindor's instead," he offered a half smile on his lips that unfortunately had no effect what so ever with his eyes looking but not really looking at her.

_I actually hurt him_, Hermione realized with a sigh, _Tough it out Weasley!_

"Right," she drawled, "and then I can go snog McGonagall, while I'm at it… Should I give Hagrid a head too?"

"What… it won't bite," he smirked, but again the effect was minimum, "and I definitely think Hagrid would love it."

"Very funny… but I'm not sitting next to a bunch of baboons, thank you very much."

"Oi, that's my friends you're talking about," he protested, finally snatching his eyes and looking at her - truly looking - with burning blue orbs. And there it was… just like that, the hurt was gone - though she was positive it would come back sooner rather than later - and anger was replacing it.

"Quod erat demonstrandum!"

Weasley yanked his arm out of her barely there grip and stared at Hermione as if she somehow during the last few seconds grew another head. "What?"

"Latin," drawled Malfoy as if with just that one word he explained everything and coming around Hermione he positioned himself between the two. She had to stop herself from flinching away from him and she barely managed it. "Now, if you don't mind," he said taking Hermione's arm - this time she did flinch and cringe, but apparently Weasley was too angry to notice and Malfoy… well Malfoy simply didn't give a crap - and draping it over his elbow, "we'll be having our breakfast… here, at the: oh, so horrible Slytherin table."

"You're with him?" asked Weasley incredulously as he took another step back away from the Slytherin table and towards his old house's.

"Bugger off, Weasley!" Malfoy growled just as Weasley's cheeks were starting to match his hair.

"You're… I can't believe you're fucking that…"

"Language Mister Weasley," said Professor Severus Snape as he entered the Great Hall, not far from where she, Malfoy and Weasley were standing. He made his way towards them, giving his two Slytherins a nod each and a sneer to Weasley.

"Snape," the red-head said, sneering at his former professor with equal distain though the two sneers couldn't be more different, "still terrifying first years I see. Getting off on tears and screams?"

"Ron," snapped Hermione jerking herself away from Malfoy - both actions beneficial mostly to her sanity.

"What," asked Weasley with one of those 'holier than thou' smiles plastered on his face. He didn't even believe it, never mind everyone else. "that's what he does, right? It's not like there're women queuing to have a go at him…"

"Weasley," warned Malfoy, but the redhead idiot was on a roll.

"…I mean - I get it. You have needs, Professor," The venom Weasley put in that word alone seemed enough to poison the whole of Hogwarts and Hermione sounded almost begging - something that Slytherins definitely didn't do - when she said his name yet again and still he wouldn't stop talking. "It's only normal - and if this gets you off…"

Weasley didn't get to finish is acceptance speech, because before she even had time to consider it, Hermione was dogging Malfoy - who got wind of what she was doing even before her mind did - and striding towards Weasley, a murderous look on her face.

Somewhere in the background she could hear the professor's voice - the low, dangerous voice he saved for Gryffindors and Slytherins with death wishes - saying something, probably eviscerating Weasley or herself for acting like an idiotic Gryffindor, but she couldn't hear it. Not when she felt one step away from shouting at least one Unforgivable at the arsehole.

"You fucking shite eater! I've stayed with you for months in a bloody tent…"

"Weasley you bastard…" growled Malfoy and from the sound of shifting coming from behind her Hermione was more than sure he was going to throw himself at the wanker.

"Draco… Miss Granger!" warned the professor and this time she registered his words not just his voice as background noise. The rustling of fabric - the one that surely was coming from Malfoy's attempt to probably beat Weasley to a pulp - died and for a second Hermione wondered if the one word had been enough or if the professor had to somehow physical or magical restrain the Slytherin too.

"Sorry sir!" Hermione puffed taking a deep breath before continuing in a lower voice though it wasn't really needed, she noticed, as air filled her lungs that apparently somebody - and she was betting on the professor - had managed to cast Muffliato before she started screaming because nobody was giving them any real attention; nobody except the Head table where Hermione could clearly see McGonagall frowning at them and some of the other teaches throwing worried glances. "Did you ever - in all that time - hear me disrespect your Head of House?"

"No, but that's McGonagall, nobody…"

"Then don't you bloody well do it either," shirked Hermione fisting chunks of her robe - it was the only thing she could think of to not let the temptation to fist her wand overpower her, "you… you…"

"Miss Granger," again the Professor's voice warned her off, deflating her anger even more. It was now at a controllable level though she still barely ignored the need to hex the living daylights out of the fucker.

"… you bastard," she said barely louder than a whisper, before throwing the boy one of her famous 'speak and die' look, turning and making her way towards the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy only a couple of steps behind - at least that answered that: there weren't magical restrains involved.

* * *

She had just took her seat, the one farthest away from all the others, when Malfoy perched himself across from her laughing. "Why Granger," he drawled, yet it was clearly forced as his own anger hadn't yet subsided, while filling up his plate, "didn't know you had it in you!"

"Fuck off," hissed Hermione as she started piling food on the empty plate before her. She was ready to hex somebody and only the fact that she would probably get expelled for killing the fucker stopped her form doing it.

"It's a compliment," Malfoy said adding a spoon full of baked beans next to the steaming link sausage and bacon. "Never saw you this this feisty."

Hermione ignored him in favour of buttering her toast and then of shoving a forkful of beans into her mouth. She chewed slower than she'd ever do in her life, keeping her mouth as busy as she could, not wanting to even acknowledge the one sided conversation Malfoy was having, never mind participating.

She was on her second toast, when she noticed their Head of House standing a foot or so behind Malfoy, a nasty sneer on his face. The Potions Master's darker than dark eyes were watching her with an odd expression. It was something between mirth and disappointment, Hermione noticed and she hated it. She didn't want to disappoint Professor Snape; of all people he was the one she liked best - in a couple of different ways that would make a Muggle Psychiatrist bring out the Oedipus complex without a second thought - and at this particular time in her life, the only one she really cared for.

"That's the last we'll be hearing of that foul mouth of yours, is it not Miss Granger?" asked the Professor, the mirth all gone from his eyes, yet so was the disappointment. His eyes and face were simply devoid of all expression as if he couldn't have cared less for what he said or for the answer he demanded.

Hermione swallowed with some difficult the piece of buttered toast stuck in her throat, lowered her head and whispered, "Yes sir! Sorry!"

"Now," Professor Snape drawled in a way that made Hermione lift her eyes to him, only to -shocking - find the man smirking, "do try and control your temper if nothing else. As entertaining as I find it, my colleagues do not share my views and I would hate to see you expelled for killing a Gryffindor."

"Yes sir," she answered a little more loudly and a lot more enthusiastically.

"You have brains, Miss Granger, do use them next time. As for you," his gaze felt to Malfoy's platinum blonde head, forcing the boy to turn around and look up at the Professor, "I suggest you stop acting the fool every time a Gryffindor does or says something imbecilic. They can't help it, it's in their blood, but the Malfoys don't need any more negative publicity, do they?"

"No sir… I mean, yes sir. I'll get a grip on it."

"Very well…" said Professor Snape and with that he was off towards the Head Table, his voluminous robes fluttering in his wake.

_The bat of the dungeons is back_, thought Hermione as she took another bite from her toast, _good! I've missed him!_


	4. Salazar's Mudbood

4. Salazar's Mudblood

As she walked towards her first class that morning, optional Alchemy with Professor Basset Jhones the Third, the only class Slytherin and Ravenclaw shared this year, as apparently only Slytherins and Ravenclaws were interested in the Alchemy, Hermione's mind started wandering to the events of the night before, of this morning and to all the other things that still troubled her mind now and again - some more often than others. There was the war, her months with Potter and Weasley, Weasley and the hatred she saw directed at her Head of House, Professor Snape and the happiness she felt seeing him back to his old self, Malfoy's advances, her weakness when faced with her needs, the parents who in their own minds have never been parents at all, the need to get her life back to what it had been before she fled, the letter she wish could write itself and many, many more.

Those were the things going to her mind, all swirling and crushing together, all giving her a headache, when memories of a time so long ago that it barely seemed to have really happened rushed to the front of her mind. Hermione had no idea what though or sentiment had called on this particular memory, but she allowed it to take over anyway. If she could just remember and not think for the rest of the way to the basement classroom she was more than fine with it. The memory was of a long time ago, when she was different, still the innocent overly excited twelve years old, brushy-haired swot on her first ride on the Hogwarts Express and she was happy - happy because now she had proof that magic was real; happy because there, on that train, she was no more different than the toad-boy in her compartment. She was ecstatic, as the train slowed down then finally stopped and people pushed their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform.

_Hermione forced down her shiver as she stepped on to the platform, as well as her eyes blinking to the cold. _

**_It wouldn't do to miss something, _**_she told herself. _

_The platform filled with students young and old and a lamp came bobbing over the heads of them all as a voice, a voice just as huge as the man that followed it spoke: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there, Harry?" Hermione's eyes snapped to her left, where the man's eyes- **Or is it giant**, she wondered - seemed to be looking at. There, in the middle of all the madness that seemed to have taken over the small platform, stood Harry Potter and he was beaming right back at the man, with now every single eye on the platform staring him down._

_She knew Harry Potter of course, first from the books she'd already read, many of them mentioning him and then from meeting him only hours ago in the train. He seemed like nothing she had expected actually. She imagined him famous and special and different - the hero type from all the films she'd seen or books she'd read - but he wasn't any of that, instead he had been shy, scared and just or maybe even more overwhelmed than she was, yet friendly and open - **Not so different from the rest or me for that matter**, she realised and giggled as the man - or giant, she preferred giant - spoke yet again, "C'mon, follow me - any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"_

_Slipping and stumbling, they gathered around the giant - Hermione giggled again as some of the boys started 'Wow'-ing and 'Wahoo'-ing as they got their first close look at the giant of a man standing before them. One boy in particular, a platinum blonde haired one, caught her attention as he marched towards the giant, took one good look at him, then turned and walked back towards the end of the row with a disgusted look on his face. If she were to compare that face to anything, she would say that it looked exactly like Aunt Dee's reaction the Christmas before last when she first saw Valery's pet tarantula crawling on the dinner table._

_She like that look, it made her laugh then and giggle now._

_The giant started down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path and they all quickly fallowed, slipping and stumbling some more in the darkness that surrounded them right, left and centre, the only light coming from up ahead where the giant held up his lamp. Nobody spoke much as they walked. Neville Longbottom, the toad-boy, sniffed once or twice from her right as they were at the end of the steep, but that was it._

_"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the giant called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."_

* * *

_"No more'n four to a boat!" he called again as they got around the bend he'd been talking about and onto a lake shore. Hermione took a deep breath, shook herself once and then climbed into the first boat she saw. Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter and a red-head boy she couldn't remember the name of though she'd made his acquaintance on the train, followed her in the boat and settled down - Neville next to her and Harry Potter and the redhead on the bench opposite her, when the giant's voice boomed over their heads, "Everyone in? Right then - FORWARD!"_

* * *

_"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant - she now knew from Harry Potter, was named Rubeus Hagrid and was Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts - after they finished their boat ride, walked up a set of stairs and he knocked on a huge door which opened and a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes, that had a very stern face and looked like someone that one shouldn't cross, greeted them with the smallest of nod._

_"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide and they followed her across the flagged stone floor. Hermione could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - **the rest of the school must already be here** - but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously at the stern witch before them._

_"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." The Professor's eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the redhead's smudged nose. Hermione nervously tried to straighten her robes - which was a success - and then her hair - but she didn't really had any luck there; the stack of brown brushy wires she called hair never did the whole straitening thing._

_"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber without a second glance at the nervous first years left in her wake._

_Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat and really looked for the first time at the faces that surrounded her. She knew some of them already, from the train ride, and others - well, just one actually, Harry Potter - was much too famous not to know of, but the rest were complete strangers to her, strangers whom she will spend the next seven years of her life: her forming years as her mother had named them._

**_Some will be my house mates_**_, she mussed taking in faces and reactions as the students talked among themselves about the sorting that seemed to frighten them all - much to her amusement. **I'll live and study and make friends… I'll have friends! - they… they'll be my friends - I'm not a freak here. They're like me, all of them just like me, and they'll be my friends.**_

_She continued to look as a bubble of happiness erupted inside her chest and smile at every face that happened to glance her way receiving back smiles or blank stares or even sneers, but it didn't matter - not all had to like her, just some. Some was enough, a couple was enough… even one was more than she had now._

_Then something happened which made Hermione jump about a foot in the air, her thoughts on all the friends she'll be making here going out the window of the windowless room - several people behind her screamed._

_"What the -?" They all gasped and shrieked as about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at them. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"_

_"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years._

_Nobody answered._

_"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded mutely, Hermione one of them. She couldn't talk even if she'd want to and right now she didn't really feel like talking. The ghosts were less terrifying than she would have thought - especially after reading so much about them in 'Hogwarts: A History' - but they still were pretty frightening._

_"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."_

_"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned and one by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall._

_"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first-years, "and follow me." And they did, all of them, some more nervous than others and in line they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall._

**_Just like the book said_**_, Hermione thought as she first stepped into the room. The Great Hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers stood._

_Professor McGonagall led them up the row between two of the house tables, all the way to the head table, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver._

_She noticed Harry Potter gazing up at the ceiling with a bemused look, that made Hermione giggle and whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."_

_Hermione's eyes quickly shifted from the famous boy to Professor McGonagall, never noticing the bemused look he send her way, as the professor silently placed a four-legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty._

_Hermione smiled as she looked back at Harry Potter noticing his confused look. As she let her eyes travel from him to others around her she saw almost the same expression on most of their faces - though there were some, like the blonde boy from the train station, which seemed to know what the stool and hat were all about. Her smile turned into a sneer, the kind Miss Chapman, her English primary school teacher used to have whenever one of the students forgot to turn in an assignment. **Of course**, she thought as a soft, barely audible 'Humph!' made its way out her lips, **people never bother to read anything**._

_For a few seconds, there was complete silence in the Great Hall. Then the hat twitched and Hermione couldn't for the life of her keep the laughter within as almost all first-years around her shrieked and whispered and then shirked some more as a rip near the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth._

_She had no reaction other than laughing and throwing Harry Potter and the redhead next to him a look that clearly stated her opinion on them not knowing about the hat. **They're a Pure-blood and a Half-blood and I, a Muggle-born, know more about this!** Humph! She turned her eyes from them, just as the hat began to sing_

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

_The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again._

_"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Hermione heard the redhead whispering to Potter. She had to fight with herself not to say anything and just stare at the now silent hat. Humph! "I'll kill Fred," the boy continued, "he was going on about wrestling a troll."_

_Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment._

_"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said and clearing he throat once she started, "Abbott, Hannah!" A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause - _

_"HUFFLEPUFFF!" shouted the hat. _

_The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Hermione saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her from his spot just above the table and wondered if the Gryffindor ghost did the same thing._

_"Bones, Susan!" _

_"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah._

_"Boot, Terry!" _

_"RAVENCLAW!" _

_The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them._

_"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first on to be sorted into Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Hermione could see what looked to be a pair of Gryffindor twins catcalling and shouting Lavender's name._

**_So that's how it is to be sorted there,_**_ she thought and a smile played at her lips. Yes, she was sure now, Gryffindor it was. **I'm going to be a Gryffindor!** That was the house for her, the only house for her, she was sure._

_"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin, "Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" a Hufflepuff, "Finnigan, Seamus", a sandy-haired boy that sat next to Neville and her on the Hogwarts Express, had to stand on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat finally declared him a Gryffindor._

_Then… she heard it. As if she was under water and the speaker somewhere above, the words sounded milky and indistinct when Professor McGonagall said, "Granger, Hermione!" Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head._

_"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of brains, I see. Not too low in the courage department, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and more than a healthy thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?"_

_Hermione gripped the edges of the stool and thought, **Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!**_

_"Gryffindor, eh?" said the small voice and Hermione almost jumped off the stool. The hat was reading her mind. "Not the best choice, I tell you! Why do you want to be a Gryffindor anyway?"_

_Hermione ignored the question, not because she wanted to be rude or anything, not to the one magical object that was going to determine her future, but because she was too afraid to stop her loud chanting of, **Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!** _

_"You're an ambitious one, I see. More than anyone I've sorted in a long time… yes I remember! It was a long time ago, a boy - you're just like him…it's all here in your head, and my sorting could help you on the way to greatness or mediocrity or…"_

_Hermione's chant stopped and as she opened her eyes she found herself looking into the darkness of the hat. She didn't know what she expected to see, maybe two great yellow wise eyes, but there was nothing there to look at, nothing to help her sort through the feeling that gripped her heart at the hat's last words. _

_She wasn't completely certain when it happened, but sometime in those eternity sized seconds of silence, her mind had started a new chat. There was no more **Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!,** but: **I want greatness**! as the Hat's words still seemed to be shouting in her mind and then, just like that the shouting stopped and there was laughter, rich, sinister yet pleasant laughter. "See, I was right," the hat said between two laughs, "you are more like him than you think!"_

_"What… like who?" she asked, but the hat never answered as it ignored her completely and went on to whispering, "So, not Gryffindor for you my dear - better you be," and then shouting for the all of Great Hall to hear, "**SLYTHERIN!**"_

Hermione sat down that night, all those years ago, at the Slytherin table, the same as she sat now in her seventh year Alchemy class - alone. She didn't mind it though, not now, not after all the years she had to get used to it. She would some days - those under the weather days mainly - whine to herself about it, but really she enjoyed the peace and silence that nothing but her thoughts as company offered.

The memory of her soring night started to fade, another one coming to the front of her mind, threatening to surface, but just then, just when she was about to let the new memory take over and drown the sounds of the present, she heard the door close with a loud click and Professor Jhones striding up the aisle, heavy footsteps ringing in the quietness of the classroom. Hermione looked up just as the professor reached his desk, turned and offered them a smile that could have rivalled that of Gilderoy Lockhart back in the days when the pompous prat still had all his marbles.

"Good morning, everyone!" Professor Jhones greeted, eyeing and nodding to each and every student.

_Lucky sod has only twelve students, he can afford it_, thought Hermione with a roll of her eyes, as she always did in his class. The man was just as pompous as Lockhart had been - less of a fake maybe, but just as annoying - and she had discovered, early in her classes with the man, than she could stand him even less than she could Lockhart after discovering the truth about him. She had had a crush on that git, while this one she couldn't care less about.

"So," he smirked and waved his wand to the blackboard, the words 'Magnum opus' appearing in his all too perfect calligraphy - _Just one more thing to hate about the man_, she thought - "who can tell me what Magnum opus is?"

As always Hermione's hand shoot into the air, high above her head and as usual in this class at least, where only those with the affinity and brains for the subject attended, she wasn't the only one. One more Slytherin - they were five of them, her included, in this particular class - had raised his hand, as well as four out of the seven Ravenclaws.

Professor Jhones scanned the room once, before his eyes stopped on Hermione and with a large, all teeth smile - she always felt uneasy when that smile was directed at her - he nodded indicating that she should answer. She rose, the chair making scraping noises as she pushed it back, took one deep breath to gather her thoughts and started, "Magnum opus," here she stopped for a little effect, "or The Great Work as some authors call it," another stop - less of the effect but still some, "is the process of creating the philosopher's stone. It has been used to describe personal and spiritual transmutation in the Hermetic tradition, attached to potions, Arithmancy and alchemic processes, used as a model for the individuation process, and as a device in art and literature," she took another brief pause - there was still more to say, "The magnum opus has been carried forward in new age and neo-hermetic movements which sometimes attached new symbolism and significance to the processes. It originally had four stages." She paused again, only for the second needed to breathe when Professor Jhones took the opportunity to wave her down.

"Excellent, Miss Granger," he said gesturing her to take a seat, "five points to Slytherin. Now, who can name and describe the four stages Miss Granger mentioned?"

Hands shoot into the air, but strangely this time Hermione's didn't. Her mind was already away from the small classroom in the basement and Jhones' questions. A new memory was forming and this one she let flow, because really she didn't had any chance at stopping it.


	5. What's It Like To Be Slytherin

5. What's It Like To Be Slytherin

_It was months into the school year, closer to the end of it, than to the beginning, and sometime during the last month or so, people had stopped staring at her all the time as if she had not one, but at least three different looking heads, all of them disgusting and foul. This suited Hermione perfectly; no more running around the school looking for quiet places to study or do her homework, no more wand at the ready at all times and especially no more restricted access to the library - that one had been the hardest on her. _

_So, being left to her own devices for the first time since school started didn't just suit her, it was heaven on earth and she was taking advantage of her new found freedom to the fullest by going to the library. Deep into the library that she loved, Hermione heard Harry Potter talking from somewhere behind the Potions shelve she was currently pursuing - Professor Snape's latest assignment was more of a headache than she'd expected it to be, and still she enjoyed every minute of it. _

_"Dumbledore again," the brat's voice whined, "he was the first one I ever -" he gasped and she stilled, her hand half way towards the book she'd been looking for, fingers reaching to grasp it, when his next words drifted to her, "I've found him!" Potter was whispering and it stuck her odd that it wasn't the normal library type of whispering, but more of the secret keeping kind. Curiosity getting the bettor of her, Hermione forgot all about her book and her pending essay on the Antidote to Common Poisons, instead focusing on the sound of the voice alone. _

_"I've found Flamel!" said Potter again after a second, the excitement crystal-clear in his voice even if he seemed to speak quieter and quieter with each word. _

**_I'd kill for a Hearing Enhancement Potion_**_, right about now, Hermione thought remembering the last Potions essay on Enhancement Potions, she turned in just the day before. But with no actual Hearing Enhancement Potion available she moved closer to the shelves, pressing her ear to the books on it._

_"I told you I'd read the name somewhere before," Potter went on, "I read it on the train coming here - listen to this: 'Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel, one of the known makers of the Philosopher's Stone'!"_

**_Well, everybody knows that, _**_Hermione thought and shifted a little closer, in the process almost knocking down one of the books. She took it out for safe keeping - it wouldn't do to alert them that someone was indeed listening, they could speak even quieter or stop completely, and she was curious enough to want to hear the whole thing - when she realised that through the slot she just vacated by removing the book she could see a portion of one of the study tables and someone's hand drumming his - seemed like a boy's hand - fingers nervously. _

_"What are you… " Hermione heard Weasley's voice starting to say, just as she saw a book being dumped onto the table, just a few inches away from the drumming fingers that stilled at the soft thud. The book was about four or five inches long, five inches wide, and half an inch, maybe an inch thick, bound in light grey canvas and in fairer shape than most of the books here were. She couldn't read the title - the writing was too small, the gap she was spying through just as small and she was a little too far away for reading - but she did see the picture it had on the front cover. It was that of a vial, a crystal shaped vial, half full with a red blood substance that now and then puffed green and yellow smoke. _

**_Wizarding pictures, don't you just love them_**_, she smiled, her eyes traveling to her right, where on the cover of a book called 'Treaty on the Wolfsbane Potion - From Monkshood to a Cure', a man was throwing his head back and howling - she could only guess that that's what he was doing - at a full moon, before vanishing and being replace by a wolf._

_"I never thought of this!" Potter whispered excitedly. Hermione turned her gaze back to the little gap just as someone - **Has to be Potter**, Hermione decided - opened the book and started flipping through it, "I stumbled upon this by mistake - thought it had something on Potions. It didn't," he said dejectedly and then added with what could have only been a grin on his face - his voice seemed the right tone for a grin - "but it had this…" he shoved the book towards the drumming fingers - Weasley for sure._

_Weasley took it, cleared his throat and started reading, "The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal," he stopped reading and Hermione saw him cover the page with his hands. "Blimey, I want one of those!"_

_"Get a number," said Potter that grin still in his voice, "and get in line. It's only you and the rest of the world that want's it."_

_"Yeah, thanks for the encouragement…" whined Weasley, lifting the book once again. _

_"Any time mate!"_

_"Yeah, yeah… whatever - So, where was - Ah… here it is: There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to," he paused, gasped loudly and then said, "Mr Nicolas Flamel… You git! You gigantic git! You knew about this all along?" growled Weasley throwing the book onto the table. _

_"About the book, yeah; about the Stone, kind of; but not about Flamel. I never read the damn thing, now did I? It just now clicked - alchemy - which it's not potions by the way - Philosopher's Stone…" He trailed off, snapped the book from table and continued reading in Weasley's stead, "There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel the noted alchemist and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year - six hundred and sixty-fifth, Ron, - enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)."_

_"So now we know that this guy - who no wonders we couldn't find in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry, he's not exactly recent, is he? Anyway, he has a stone…" _

_"The Stone" said Potter as he closed the book over his finger, keeping the page still marked, "and I don't think he has it anymore. He's friends with Dumbledore and I bet he asked him to keep it safe, because he knew someone was after it. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts and that's what the dog must be guarding - Nicholas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone!"_

_"A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying!" said Weasley. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."_

**_Professor Snape? What?_**

_"Yeah, but I'm not interested in just anyone, but who Snape wants it for," growled Potter a threatening edge in his voice._

_"Himself," laughed Weasley all the whispering forgotten, "Just imagine six-hundred years of student torture - a nightmare, I tell you! Oh, speaking of the git, what's it gonna be?"_

_"I don't … What? What what's gonna be?"_

_"You know the match against Slytherin… Snape refereeing…Need me to break your leg after all?"_

_"No, but thanks," Potter got up from the table and soon Weasley followed, "I'm going to play. If I don't, all the Slytherins'll think I'm too scared to face Snape. I'll show them … it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."_

_"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the pitch, mate" said Weasley._

"So," Professor Jhones voice broke through the mist of her memory, forcing Hermione back to the present, "can anyone tell me Samuel Norton's steps?"

She had to smile a little as the memory faded to just another of the many swimming through her head. How she'd loved the ending to that particular year: Potter taking on Voldemort and still breathing, Weasley absent the last two weeks of Slytherin-Gryffindors classes and finding out her Potions extra work with professor Snape had actually been one of the Stone's protections - heaven on earth for her at least. Well, it would have been heaven, if not for the old nutcase Dumbledore, screwing the Slytherins over at the last possible minute and giving his beloved Gryffindors the House Cup. That she most definitely hadn't loved.


	6. Into The Snake Pit

6. Into The Snake Pit

It was earlier than usual that she went to the dungeons that night after classes, stopped in front of the nondescript portion of wall the concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room, hissed 'Ophidian', this year's password and entered. She expected the long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains, to be deserted - it was barely six o'clock, Slytherins' young and old favourite Hufflepuff torment time - unfortunately it was not.

_And I so wanted some peace and quiet_, she sighed as she noticed in the high-backed chairs before the elaborately carved mantelpiece the new Prince and Princess of Slytherin - now that Malfoy had no defined place in the house hierarchy because of his status as a returnee and Parkinson had left school, their places had been taken by Astoria Greengrass a sixth year and Reginald Harper a seventh year. They both turned at the sound of her footsteps, looked at her and glared - it was as much of greeting as Slytherins, except her former class mates, had ever given her. Hermione glared right back and strode into the common room towards the sofa, threw her bag on the floor - her green and silver bag from when back when - and flopped down onto the comfortable green leather, without a word.

It wasn't like she was expected to have a conversation with either of them, actually except from Malfoy bothering her every minute since their third year when she'd punched him - which apparently got his somewhat twisted respect - and a few shouting matches with different house mates - especially Parkinson who hated Hermione on principle and was hated right back - she didn't really talked all that much. She'd never been interest on what her house mates had to say and they never cared of what she did, so not talking was actually a win-win situation for any Slytherin in this situation. Other houses didn't talk to her either, except to make fun of her being the oddity of Slytherin or when she was the one making fun: poking and railing them until wands got drawn - she was Slytherin after all and Slytherin didn't had to approve of it for her to embrace it.

"_See, I was right you are more like him than you think!"_

"_What… like who?" _

"…_so, not Gryffindor for you my dear - better you be, **SLYTHERIN!**"_

_Hermione heard that last word and suddenly realised something was wrong - there were no cheers or shouts, only whispers - loud, barely hidden whispers of 'Muggle-born', 'never in Slytherin', 'Mudblood' or 'Slytherin hated Mudbloods' - but those died down soon enough. She on the other hand was just as stunned to react, so she just took off the hat and looked at the now completely silent hall. One Hufflepuff second-year, she saw, started to clap - the Hufflepuffs seemed to be cheering for everyone no matter what house he or she got sorted to - when an older student, next to him, grabbed his hands and stilled them. Nobody moved, nobody spoke and at the Gryffindor table, some even seemed to have stopped breathing after that. She wanted to, but couldn't make her eyes look at the Slytherin table - **not yet** - though what she thought she would see there, she didn't know. There was silence there too, stunned silence just like everywhere else. _

_The Great Hall was as quiet as a tomb and stood that way until Hermione felt a hand on her back, gently pushing her forward. It was then when reality started crushing in - the hat sorted her in … **SLYTHERIN? No, that can't be… It's a mistake - It's a nightmare - It's … **But it wasn't, the deafening silence around her told her so. She had really been sorted into Slytherin. _

"_But…" _

_She protest but Professor McGonagall's voice which wavered a little told her to, "Go to your house table, Miss Granger!"_

"_But…"_

"_Now, Miss Granger!"_

_And she did, though she didn't really notice when she got off the stool, placed the hat back atop of it and started to make her way towards the Slytherin table. She did notice though, when her eyes drifted up to the Head table, looking for someone to tell her it was all just a joke, an initiation prank or something like that, but all she found there were stunned looks on all of their faces, all except one. There, at the end of the table, a teacher with greasy long black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin stared at her with black - or at least they seemed black to her from that distance - expressionless eyes. She was just starting to lower her eyes, when she saw something, a softening of those eyes and something more… _

_**Is that pity? I don't want pity… I want another house!**, her mind screamed._

_She straightened her pose and stared right back at the man with all the pride she could master. When she saw a spark of what looked like approval behind those black orbs she stopped in her tracks and stared even more intensely into the teacher's eyes. She noticed his lips curling upward ever so slightly in what she supposed could have been a smile and he gave her the tinniest of nods, before the spark and the curl vanished and with a swift jerk of his head that pointed towards where she knew the Slytherin table to be, he turned to the man sitting next to him._

_She stared only a second longer, wondering what was that all about, before taking a deep cleansing breath and started once more her walk towards the Slytherin table. This time she held her head high, staring in the faces of all those seated at the table that was now her house table, and walked proudly towards it, just as Professor McGonagall's call of, "Neville Longbottom" finally broke the uncomfortable silence._

* * *

_The sorting was over, the feast finished and Hermione was waiting silently for the prefect assigned to the first-years to approach when suddenly she felt something hard hitting the back of her head, shoving her forward. She barley caught herself from falling face down onto the now empty table, when a now familiar voice - she'd heard the prat brag about blood purity and his father's wealth and position at the Ministry all through meal - laughed next to her ear, "Sorry, did that hurt - Mud?"_

_She snapped her head looking straight into the very grey eyes of Draco Malfoy who smiled an awful looking smile, which made her insides twist. He had the same look he had earlier that evening, on the train platform, as he looked at Rubeus Hagrid for the first time, but somehow now that it was directed at her she didn't found it amusing anymore. No, it was intense and burning and she hated it. Yet Hermione - still the Gryffindor she thought she ought to be - wanted to say something, to confront the stupid prat with rage, yelling and crying - well, maybe not crying, though she felt like giving it a go, just not in front of this jerk - but as one of the older students - a girl of about fifteen with a large insignia with the letter P pinned on her chest - approached, Malfoy shoved her once more and walked away, his two stupid friends Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe hot on his trail, never giving her the chance to be the Gryffindor. _

_And as she left the Great Hall, Hermione's anger and dread could only rise. On their way down to the dungeons and Slytherin common room, one by one, almost all of the first-years and even some of the older students shoved her when they were sure the prefects weren't looking and whispered sneering remarks on exactly what they thought on her presence in Slytherin and her blood status. And so it went - some of her house mates having even more than one go at her - until reaching a nondescript spot on the hallway. _

_Once they all stopped and seemed attentive enough one of the prefects said the words 'Putus Cruor' and the wall in front of which they were gathered dissolved, leaving behind a door tucked into an alcove and behind the door, which had no handle but opened at the prefect's touch stood Slytherin's common room. _

"_Gather 'round here." The prefect's voice ran high and loud over the long empty common room as the students filled in. "I'm Gemma Farley the fifth year prefect. Welcome to the Slytherin Common Room. Boys' dormitories, down the stairs to your left. Girls, the same on your right. You'll find that your belongings have already been brought in and placed at the foot of your bed - if anything's missing don't complain to us, go directly to Filch. All and every questions and issues will be directed to the prefects: Samuel Otterburn and Virginia Wimplem seventh years, Alaric Sakndenberg and Andrea Watkins, sixth years or William MacFarlan and myself, fifth years. For anything beyond our capabilities, address Samuel Otterburn or Virginia Wimplem, before rushing to Professor Snape, and if that fails there's always the Head Boy and Girl. So don't bother our Head of House unless it's a life and death situation and even then think twice before doing so. He dislikes being disturbed, especially by imbecilic first-years. Other announcements will be made tomorrow, so do make sure to be up and ready by six."_

_Without another word, Farley walked away leaving behind a room full of first-years - they were all there, plus a few older students - snickering and some even laughing out loud. Hermione, her eyes still glued to the staircase that seemed to screw itself into the ground as the Prefect descended it, needed a moment for it to finally hit her - there was nothing funny in the room, nothing that could make then snicker and laugh. _

_She turned slowly and just by looking at her house mates she knew: they were laughing at her and it was only the beginning. _

Sometime during her remembering session, Hermione had taken out her quill, inkpot and parchment and bending down over them she started writing that letter of hers again.

_Maybe this time_, she thought, but even her thoughts trailed off as she remembered her mother's expression when after her sixth year she told them everything. She shook herself - _No more drowning in memories for me _- and taking the quill she wrote:

_**Dear mum and… **_

She scratched it, dipped the quill once more in ink and started again.

_**Mum, (and Dad too) **_

_Yeah, that's better_, she smirked and went on.

_**I… I know that you are confused and maybe more than a little scared right now, but bear with this letter and me for a little and I will try, to the best of my abilities, to explain everything. **_

_**You see, it all started…**_


	7. Unexpected

7. Unexpected

A few days later Hermione was enjoying a memory lane trip free breakfast in the Great Hall and as an added bonus a Malfoy free breakfast too. The idiot had gotten himself in detention with McGonagall for a nasty curse that got two Gryffindors fifth years in the Hospital Wing with boils in places she didn't need to dwell on and a fourth year Hufflepuff too scared to show her face in the dangerous ever again. She was reading a book on Animagi that stood propped up on the coffee jug, one of the privileges of being a seventh year student, with a full cup of steaming hot rum coffee halfway to her mouth - one of the advantages of being a returnee - everybody tended to treat them like adults as opposed to near adulthood adolescents as was the case with the seventh years and the rum was just one of the perks - when Cordelia Broadmoor, a third year Slytherin she knew well by reputation and not at all personally - she made it her business to know all there was about the other students and have little to none contact if possible - walked up to her.

The petite blonde girl fidgeted, coughed and even cleared her throat a few times before Hermione pried her eyes from the book - in her defence, it really was an interesting chapter on human to animal partial transfiguration - and glared at her with a combined look of surprise and annoyance. It wasn't like she hadn't noticed the little swot. Oh, she'd spotted the third-year since before she got up from the table. It was virtually impossible not to or maybe if she were to actually be a Gryffindor - they kind of lacked the eyes for these sort of things - but the girl had been shooting glances her way all throughout breakfast.

_Still some way to go before learning not to give away everything,_ Hermione thought and had to cover her smile by taking a sip of her coffee when she remembered how long it took her to master the art.

Well, she wasn't all that fair if she thought about it. In truth was the girl had been discrete enough to not draw too much attention to herself and she was willing to bet at least half her Gringotts savings - which admittedly wasn't much - that the majority of the people present in the Great Hall hadn't noticed a thing, but the rest did. The Slytherins had been onto her from the second glance her way and though some were more obvious than others, Hermione knew they had all been watching her since, and then there were the teachers which always seemed to notice stuff like that, not to mention Professor Snape that somehow knew what was going on at the Slytherin table before it even occurred. Well, the girl had been discrete, she gave her that, just not discrete enough for a Slytherin.

"Can I…" the girl started to say, but stopped at the sight of Hermione's raised eyebrow, but tried again with "Miss…". As the eyebrow shoot even higher and she stopped once more and grimaced slightly. Hermione stayed silent, glancing at the girl now and again, rolling her eyes around the room when the girl seemed to grimace once or twice, obvious lost for words, and taking small sips of coffee from time to time. Yet not even once had she said one word or encouraged the girl to speak in any way. She would talk on her own time or not at all; it made no difference to Hermione, though she was slightly curious as to why the young Pure-blood which was coming to her of all people when the two of them had never talked before except for a cordial, yet tense, nod when they meet in the library or the lavatory.

"I need your help," said Cordelia Broadmoor about a minute later just as Hermione was turning her eyes back to her book. "I'm lousy at Potions and I thought…" she stopped at the sight of Hermione's head snapping back to her with eyebrows raised so high they were dangerously close to disappear in her hairline. The girl gulped and lowered her eyes. "I heard…" she started addressing more her shoes than Hermione, but stopped again at the sound of Hermione's book being snapped shut. The Pure-blood's eyes glanced back at the older girl through tick lashes and Hermione couldn't for the life of her stop a smile reaching her lips as she noticed the almost scared look Broadmoor's pale blue eyes held.

"What's in it for me?" questioned Hermione as she turned back from the girl and once again started taking small measured sips of her magically hot coffee. Merlin, how she loved the perks of magic when it came to stuff like the never-cooling mugs, self-inking quills or simply the array of spells she could perform with only a flick of a stick - a magical stick no doubt, but a stick nevertheless - and one barely whispered incantation.

"I can pay," said the girl from behind Hermione and again she had to stop herself from smiling, though this time it was much closer to laughing than it was to smile. The girl was just too predictable. "I have money."

"Not interested," Hermione said in between two sips of coffee, giving the girl's suggestion not even a thought as money had never been Hermione's thing. She had money, probably not nearly as much as the Broadmoors hadand surely not anywhere near as much as others like Malfoy or Greengrass had, but she had her share of it, and it was definitely more than the Weasleys had for example. But the truth was that except for buying books, potions ingredients, school supplies and some robes here and there she never really saw what the reason behind having money was. Even at home, with her parents - she had to stifle a shiver as the thought of her parents brought back to the issue of the forever unfinished letter - she never really understood their need to earn more and more money. They had some; they were living a good life - they lacked nothing and had the possibility to buy something on a whim now and again - they had money for her schooling be it Muggle or Wizarding and they had enough to go on at least two vacations a year, so why did they always needed more? She had no clue and honestly she wasn't all that eager to have one, but what she knew was that she wasn't going to accept money as a bargaining chip; not when there were so many other things to get, especially form spoiled rich Pure-blood kids.

Hermione made to say just that, but stopped when she noticed Professor Snape making his way towards the Slytherin table. She lowered her cup to the table and fully turned to watch him, smirking when the corner of her eye couth the younger girl's fidgeting some more at the sight of their Head of House.

_What the hell is she doing in Slytherin_, she wondered as Broadmoor tried and failed to hide her nervousness.

"Miss Broadmoor," greeted the professor his trade smirk showing up from behind the expressionless mask he usually wore.

_Now, there's a Slytherin,_ thought Hermione with admiration as Professor Snape turned his head towards her and nodded, "Miss Granger."

"Professor," the girls said as almost the same time and Hermione had to fight another smile as Broadmoor blushed all the way to the roots of her hair.

"I see you've taken my advice, Miss Broadmoor," said the professor and Hermione's gasp was much too loud and completely non-Slytherin, thus making the professor's smirk reach twice its original size, but at the moment she was too stunned to even try to feel embarrassed by such a Gryffindorish display. She'd expected a prefect to direct Broadmoor to her, or one of her class mates - she was known as something of a Potions wiz within Slytherin House, so that wouldn't have been too farfetched. What she didn't expect was for Professor Snape to acknowledge her as such. She got the highest marks in his class, that's for sure, but that never stopped him form complaining and berating her on everything from the length of her essays, to the potions she brewed or her hand waving in class - at least she finally grew out of the hand waving thing somewhere around forth year. But this, him suggesting another student to seek her out for Potions tutoring, was something so out of character that for a second she considered asking him some check questions to make sure there was no Polyjuice Potion involved.

Was this the acknowledgement she never received and always wished for, finally delivered in the most Slytherin of ways or did it have a purpose, other than the obvious one of getting what most likely was a female version of Neville Longbottom out of his hair and into hers? She didn't know, but what she did know without a shadow of a doubt even, was that she would do anything he asked of her and if he wanted her to tutor Cordelia Broadmoor she'll do it and do it brilliantly too.

* * *

"Now, if that's settled," said Professor Snape after Hermione agreed wholeheartedly to tutor Broadmoor three days a week, down in the unused Apprentice Potions Lab, "Miss Granger, a word." He didn't even wait for Hermione to acknowledge in any way that she'd heard him, but turned and took off out of the Great Hall in a whirl of billowing robes.

_Merlin, he's fast_, thought Hermione as she finished gathering her things from the table and Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen. She threw the book bag over her shoulder and ran after him all the way through the halls of Hogwarts - narrowly avoiding students and teachers coming in for a late breakfast or ghosts and pets on a morning stroll around the castle - barely catching him in the dungeon, a few steps away from his office door, when he finally slowed his strode. He was already opening the door and holding it out for her by the time, an out of breath panting and whizzing Hermione, reached him and though she wanted nothing more than to double over in an effort to get her breathing back to normal, she strode past him and into his office.

The door clicked shut just a second later as a billowing Potions Master walked past her and behind his desk to his chair. He didn't sit though, but stood until Hermione dropped herself fairly unladylike - not that she cared at the moment for anything that wasn't directly connected to breathing and the twinge in her side - into the only other chair facing the desk, exhaled and inhaled a couple of times and finally catching enough breath offered a small, kind of embarrassed smile. She was so out of shape it wasn't even funny.

_Okay Granger - two laps around the greenhouse 'til you get it together,_ she decided as the twinge hit her again, already thinking of ways of squeezing it into her schedule.

The professor smirked at her as he took his seat. He leaned back for a second regarding Hermione as if she was a terrible interesting potion before summoning what seemed to be a scroll with the Hogwarts seal on top and thrusting it towards her. She hesitated only a second before reaching and taking the scroll out of his hand.

"That," Professor Snape started to say in that drawled voice of his that scared the shite out of first years, "if you were wondering and as you are the resident know-it-all of the castle, you are most definitely wondering, is the reason behind your new task of tutoring Miss Broadmoor."

"Did someone…" 'asked for me to tutor Broadmoor? ' she would have inquired if not for the Professor's low growl of "Don't ask - Read!" and the annoyed look he send her way. So she simple let her question unfinished and spared one last look at the professor before breaking the seals - she only just noticed the second seal, that of the Headmistress - and unrolling the scroll. The parchment was longer than she'd expected - it kept on unrolling for what seemed like forever, or maybe that was just her nerves combined with excitement making her lose track of time - and definitely had more writing than she imagined, but also large blank spaces scattered all around the text. She hadn't read one word up to this moment, but at the sight of all those blanks she darted her eyes to the first line and starting reading, her jaw dropping around the first paragraph and never once closing as she went on reading down the page.


	8. The Prisonier Of Azkaban

8. The Prisonier Of Azkaban

Far away from Scotland and from the dungeons where Hermione was reading what seemed to be the most important parchment she'd ever read in her life, under the watchful eyes of Severus Snape, her favourite professor, there was a place in the middle of the North Sea, on a sea surrounded rock, just as imposing and magnificent as Hogwarts and yet as different from it as night was from day. There, in the middle of nowhere, where nobody was reading life altering parchments and nobody was feeling the happiest they've ever been, the chilly mist of despair - as the foul creatures, the Dementors, where known in those parts - was, after months of absence, once again settling over Azkaban Prison.

The prisoners, those who hadn't succumbed to madness a long time ago, back when the Dementors were on a daily basis sucking all that was good and decent in people who had little of good and decent to begin with, had relished those months as they would relish their freedom if it will ever be theirs to relish, because for the first time in years, for some even decades and for the luckier of the lot months, they finally had something the mist never allowed them to have before. For the first time in a very long time, the prisoners of Azkaban had hope. Yet now as the mist once again slithered its way up the tall, black walls of the fortress of death, hope - that little thing too many gave too little credit to - deserted them again.

All that was left in its stead as hope left them again, many for good - all that was left where for a while stood dreams and futures - was nothing but the putrid stench of despair.

* * *

On the thirteenth floor, where the mist hadn't yet reached - it was moving slower than you'd expected it to move and yet the slow dance of dark and cold and gloom seemed more tariffing than anything else that existed be it in Muggle or Wizarding world - a dark figure stood tall and proud by the huge windowless window watching through crazed, grey eyes the mist and the tall, black-cloaked Dementors floating above the swirling and curling black treads of fog. He had been standing there, staring out into the nothingness of sea and sky - into the nothingness of death as the prisoners called it - since the Ministry in its infinite wisdom decided to return the Dementors to Azkaban; the news reaching Azkaban three nights ago. And ever since the man, known now only as Prisoner 26790348 after he had renounced his name as soon as he'd set foot in Azkaban, never to use it again, had been waiting, dreaming and wishing for the creatures return.

Now, three days later, as he stood motionless, staring into the dim morning light, gazing upon thousands of Dementors and the mist of despair the beings conjured by their mere presence, the man was finally seeing the thing he wished and dreamed for the most, happening and seeing it he was finally happy and as he stared into the abyss below he smiled for the first time in what seemed like years.

_Idiots, they don't take hope away - they bring it! _he thought and smile some more. It was not the smile of sanity though, but that of madness in its purest form and as if any more proof was needed about the mental state of this man, this mad looking man, he laughed, closed his grey eyes and jumped right out the window and into the death that awaited him below.

Still laughing… still smiling…

Prisoner 26790348 had made no sign of distress as he'd rushed towards his death, laughing all the way, even as the mist spread out to welcome him into its deeps as if welcoming an old friend. And in a way, they had been friends; at one time, in a life that had him lose everything and also brought him here.

The man laughed even more - the kind of laugh that makes the hairs on your neck stand - when the mist, his long-time friend, closed over him just as hundreds of tall, black-cloaked figures rushed from the morning sky to greet him, to have him… to kiss him.

* * *

The Dementors were hungry this morning; hungry for being so long without souls to destroy - there were no steady meals of souls on the run and in hiding - hungry for what this place had to offer, but most of all, hungry for something the man reeked of. They didn't know what it was - they couldn't' understand feelings especially not ones so intense - but they could feel, and feel they did: the raw emotion, the raw need, the power that surrounded it all.

It was a feast to have, a feast they had no wish of missing on.

_We will be kissing him_, they thought as one.

* * *

They were nearly there.

He could already feel their mere presence devouring his emotions, feeding on his hate and his dreams, pouring revenge from him as if pouring wine from a cup, when suddenly from the centre of his being, a feeling so bright and strong burst out as a huge dark silver falcon Patronus, which flew right into the sky. It was an eerie silence that followed the silvery winged manifestation, as high up into the morning sky Dementors fled from the Patronus, running as they have never run, because on this particular Patronus they couldn't feed as it wasn't good or love or pure. No, this one, this Patronus as no other had ever been, was hate, revenge and dark, pure darkness and pure hatred, Oh, no, they couldn't feed on it not when it was exactly what they were made of too.

The man - he wasn't falling anymore - the tall, dark figure with crazed, blood-shoot grey eyes stood below, floating above the waves and gazing at the soaring falcon, all the while twirling with long, bonny, death-pale fingers a silver snake head handled wand and smiling.


	9. An Agreement With Professor Snape

9. An Agreement With Professor Snape

**_Apprenticeship Agreement_**

**_This Apprenticeship Agreement has been drafted between Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, represented by Professor Minerva McGonagall, mentioned throughout the Agreement as "Employer", Professor Severus Snape, mentioned as "Potions Master" or "Master" and Hermione Jean Granger, from here on mentioned as "Apprentice". _**

**_1. Description of Apprenticeship_**

**_The Apprentice seeks an on-site training and mentoring program with the Potions Master to gain valuable creative development and hands-on learning about the art of Potions Making. Specifically, the Apprentice will receive:_**

She read on, hardly believing and barley understanding, until she reached the end of the scroll and the section reserved for signatures and was about to go back to the top to start reading it all over again, when she noticed that two of the three slots were already named, dated and signed; one by Headmistress McGonagall as the school's representative and one by Professor Snape, who, Hermione noticed as she lifted her eyes for the first time in minutes, was sipping from a steaming cup of coffee completely ignoring her. She lowered her eyes to the scroll again, but had time to re-read only the first line, before Professor Snape's throat clearing forced her eyes to meet his.

"I…" she started to say but chocked and had to start all over again, "What's this?"

"I would think that's obvious." he drawled and took another sip of his coffee still not looking at her, "I for one, found the first two words quite enlightening on that matter."

"Yes, but…" she stopped, lowered her eyes to the scroll looking for a particular paragraph and as she found it started reading it out loud. "In return for the on-site training and mentoring, the Apprentice agrees to: Arrive on time and be willing to work during the hours outlined; Adhere to the dress code set forth by the Potions Master; Conduct duties based on the Master's moral and professional code; Act responsibly and with appropriate care around potions, potions ingredients and potions making equipment; Accept constructive instruction and guidance/advice from the Master in any form it may come; Tutor, teach or advise students…" she trailed off as she lifted her eyes from the parchment and noticed the annoyed look the professor was shooting her way.

"Miss Granger," he almost growled as soon as her voice died down, "do I strike you as a man who would sign anything without reading it first?"

"No," she squeaked and for a second she thought she'd seen an amused twitch on her Professor's lips, but it was either happening only in her imagination or gone before it even started, because the scowl was back in place as if it had never left.

"Then, why do you feel the need to read me something I already know?" Hermione made to answer but the professor continued speaking without giving her a chance to do so. "Is this your obsessive need to quote the book or is there a question in there somewhere?"

"What is this?" she asked again, starting to nervously bite on her lower lip and looking anywhere but at the professor. She knew she sounded dumb, but the truth was she keep waiting for somebody to pop from under the desk and scream something like 'April Fool's Day' or 'Candid Camera' or anything that would let her know that this wasn't really happening, because it wasn't. She was sure of that - this wasn't happening, Professor Snape wasn't offering her an Apprentice and everything form the scroll, to his kind of serene - if a scowl could be serene - gaze were simply a dream and she couldn't get her hopes up only to get them crushed by the time she'll wake.

"Very well," the professor sighed setting the cup down and leaning back on his chair all the while rubbing the tension from his forehead. He stood there in complete silence for what seemed like hours to Hermione when actually it had been close to a minute, before he opened his eyes and staring at the ceiling he started explaining.

* * *

"So," Hermione dragged the word as much as she could when the professor finally finished explaining the parchment she still had clutched in her hands, still much too terrified to let it out of her grip, "you wish me to apprentice under you?" Almost as an afterthought she added a hasted "Sir?", though why she bothered as this was without a doubt a dream, she didn't know.

"I wish nothing of the sort, Miss Granger."

_This sounds more like reality,_ she thought as the professor went on saying: "The Ministry demands that all Hogwarts professors take Apprentices starting this year, the Headmistress suggested your name and seeing as I am obligated to fulfil the Ministry requirement…"he let the idea unfinished and Hermione's mind was suddenly bombarded with questions she needed to ask. Yet not knowing how many he was willing to answer - he was generally willing to answer none, especially when those questions came from her - she decided on the most important one.

"Still, why me?"

"Because you were recommended by the Headmistress herself and you are adequate at potions or maybe because you have some sort of flair for innovation required in potion making and you are in possession of an above average mind - is this what you want to hear - praises?"

"I…" she took a deep breath and tried again in a barely there voice. "I'd like to hear the truth."

The professor got out of his chair and made his way around it. Hermione turned to watch his walk towards the now cold and grey fireplace and his hands rubbing his forehead as if trying to rub away a headache she was more than surely causing him. He was again silent, a concentrated expression upon his face, before turning his body fully towards her and regarding her with expressionless eyes.

"They are all valid, Miss Granger, and the truth of the matter is I have no idea which one made me decide," the professor paused for a breath before continuing as he walked back to his chair. "You will not be the only one to receive such an offer so no need to flatter yourself with that notion. There will be a total of four Apprenticeship Agreements offered to seventh years students by each teacher and by the time of your graduation only two of the four will be receiving an Apprenticeship Contract for the next two years of training."

"Who…" Hermione started to ask, but shied and left the question unfinished hanging between her and the professor. He was more likely to eviscerate her for asking than answer the question.

_Me and my big mouth!_

But the professor did nothing of the sort and furthermore surprised her with an answer. "Draco Malfoy, Stephen Cornfoot and Miranda Radford - they have yet to receive the Apprenticeship Agreement and I would prefer if you don't go shouting it through the halls."

"Of course, sir!"

"Very well, then you'll have until the end of the day to decide and sign the Agreement or the Apprentice position will be revoked…"

_Is he mad? I'm not throwing away a chance like this_, Hermione though as the professor started to explain. She was a little put out about the whole Malfoy thing - it seemed no matter what she did, she couldn't get away from the blonde bastard - but still, an Apprentice with Professor Snape outshined any negatives there might exist. She just needed to get over her libido and start using her head more when it came to the arrogant prick. And then there were the tutoring sessions she would be required to organize as an Apprentice - she now understood why the professor sent Cordelia Broadmoor to her and suspected that Malfoy, Cornfoot and Radford would be getting their very own Broadmoors soon enough if they hadn't gotten them yet.

The professor seemed to have more to say, but stopped speaking when Hermione summoned a self-ink quill out of her bag and signed. As she finished up the signature all the blank spaces stared filling themselves with her personal information and before she even got the chance to lift the quill of the parchment it glowed green, red and then green again, before changing its colour to blue.

"In this case, Miss Granger" said the professor and Hermione looked up just as three more identical parchments - except for the colour ink it was written in: one was red and the other two green - materialised next to the first, "you are scheduled for your first meeting tomorrow evening at seven."

"Yes, sir!" she beamed and the professor gathered the original parchment and two of the copies, leaving one of the parchments written in green ink in front of her.

"This is your copy," he said when Hermione made to rise from the chair and then added: "Good day, Miss Granger!"


End file.
